Tenupian Diary
by Corran Horn 62
Summary: Jagged Fel Fiction!Stranded for two years on Tenupe, Jagged Fel is forced to fight for his life against the jungle. But even after he is rescued, his struggle continues...
1. Prologue

Prologue: Tenupian Diary.

From the private journals of Commander Jagged Fel, CEDF. Voiceprint analysis confirms identity: audiojournal playback commencing.

First Entry:

"This is the second day since the battle above Tenupe. I still hear the thunderclap of a ship entering atmosphere every once in a while; any one of those might be on its way to rescue me. But I cannot trust in that, and so I begin this record. Pilots shot down here in the past few weeks have been difficult to recover, even when the enemy positions allowed it; I may be stranded here for as long as a few weeks, or worse, a month. Despite our technology, despite our spacefaring civilizations, we are nonetheless at the mercy of the jungle. There is a strange irony to that thought; despite all my accomplishments, the battles I have lived through and the enemies I have defeated; despite the training I have undergone, and the familiarity with enormously intricate machines, products of millennia of scientific achievement; despite all this, in these next few days or weeks I could be killed by the jungle, and my body be consumed by it's occupants. There is something frightening in the thought, something that triggers primeval fears and instincts in me. My mind rebels against the possibility that I could end up as food for some jungle creature, I who have faced down the Vong and worse.

"But I digress. It is a sign of my exhaustion that I can ramble so far away from what I had intended to say.

"My name is Jagged Fel. I am -- was a Commander in the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet during the battle of Tenupe, in what I hope are the final days of the Killik Crisis. The Chiss have attempted to...well, exterminate the bugs. Slow-acting insecticide bombs were to be dropped on the bugs; I can only hope they reached their intended targets. I was assigned to protect them against all attackers. Those happened to include the love of my life and her parents, who shot me down. sound of laughter I have heard of men having problems with their mother-in-laws, but this...

"I'm not entirely sure what has happened to me in the past years. Growing up, things were simple; I served the Chiss, and I did so with honor. I flinched from no obstacle, I balked at no sacrifice. Then I met a brown-haired girl at a state function...who I fell in love with. Together we fought in a war, a war to preserve our freedom and our home galaxy. But when the war was over, and victory was achieved...

"Jaina, my adopted people, the military drive that has led me all my life, and my own sense of honor have been at war with each other since…well, since the day I met Jaina. Strange, the impact that she has had on my life. Without her, I would likely be a prominent Chiss official, cold and reasoning, dedicated solely to my career. If, of course, there were Chiss left. Tracing the thread of my life from that point on, it intersects and intertwines with many, many more. Jaina herself would almost certainly be dead; events at Borleias, or Ylesia, or Bakura, or even Coruscant might well have left her dead, life ended in a plasma bolt or thud bug, amphistaff or coufee, or even in trapped in the damaged mind of her friend Tahiri. Han and Leia Solo would be dead, as well; I probably saved his life on Hapes, and even the Solo Luck would have been hard-pressed to bring him (and the Princess who just shot me down) through that Vong ambush on the Hydian Way. Kyp Durron also owes his life to me, back on Borleias; and if those four had fallen, who else might have? For the rest of the war, anything Han and Leia Solo did would not have been done, or done differently. Anything Jaina Solo accomplished as the Trickster, any lives saved by her actions and victories, would never have happened. That alone accounts for many things, for her deeds are the stuff of legends. Jacen Solo and Luke Skywalker? How would they have fared alone against Shimrra ony Yuuzhan'tar? Might the entire war have been lost if not for my actions?

"It is a sobering thought. Had I not fallen in love with Jaina, the galaxy might now be under the shadow of the Yuuzhan Vong, and the Jedi obliterated by their hatred. If the Force has a will, and beings a destiny; perhaps mine has been fulfilled, as one of many threads that formed the picture of the victory over the Yuuzhan Vong.

"It may very well be that my destiny ended with that victory. Since then, my relationship with Jaina, my love for my duty, and my life in general have become meaningless. Honor and my stubborn Corellian nature are what keep me going, that and my love for my family, already broken by war and loss. I do hope, for their sakes, that I do not die here on this verdant, deadly planet. 

"Enough of that. The point of recording this is not to talk about where I was in the past. The point is where I am now. 

"The purpose of this diary is twofold; first, to provide an accurate chronicle of the events of my duration here. These things are always of interest to someone, and it is required of me by the military I serve in. Even if I do not make it out, the information will be of use to them.  
"The second is to provide my family with some measure of closure. It will be unneeded, of course, if I survive: but if I do not, or my experiences here drive me mad, it will be useful to those who survive me. I hope.

"So, down to business. I have little idea where I am. I ejected from my dying clawcraft in the midst of atmospheric evasion maneuvers, while trying to protect an also-evading bomber. This and earlier combats contribute to my utter inability to discern where I am.  
"I have only the contents of my flight suit and the emergency kit that is customarily attached to the ejection seat for clawcrafts. If I could locate my destroyed ship, I might be able to salvage something from it and its more complete emergency kit. In addition, the homing beacon on board might by some miracle be functional; the one in my flight suit was irreparably damaged during my evasion from Jaina Solo and her wingmate, who I presume to be the Jedi Knight Zekk. I must not think of him too much; I fear madness. I must remain calm, logical, and rational if I hope to survive. Weeks of isolation like those I am anticipating have driven stronger men than I out of their wits.  
"The homing beacon in my chair is giving no signals whatsoever. Its face has been shattered, and I cannot know if it is still functioning. It is possible; but it is best not to trust to luck. It is now ensconced safely in a secured pocket of my flight suit.  
"I will leave the chair here while I search for my craft, taking with me only the emergency kit and what supplies I have. I have marked its location well, for if I cannot find my craft and am forced to remain here for as long as a few weeks, I may well need the wires and springs and struts that make up the seat. Indeed, I already have entertained the thought of using the small repulsorlifts in the chair to construct some sort of transportation device.

Assets:  
One blaster pistol, with powerpack bandolier.  
Three vibroblades, from my flightsuit, E.K., and father.  
Rations for four weeks, though they are bland and tasteless things. Even military food at the base tastes better.  
Thermal, waterproof jumpsuit, with combat jacket and associated trappings.  
One pilot's helmet, with short-range wireless comlink, though of course it was tuned to my clawcraft  
The contents of a standard ejection-seat emergency pack, which the examiner of this diary can no doubt discern.  
Water-purification tablets, enough for four weeks  
Adrenaline tablets  
Serviceable boots, which may do well for hiking  
A lifetime of training and a mind honed by years of intensive concentration.

"I have discharged my military duty thus far; this is a fair and concise account of my situation.

"Because this record is for my family as well as my superiors, I will do my best to record my thoughts and emotions as I continue to create this chronicle. For now, I must get some sleep; but in the event that the first entry on this diary is also the last, I must say a bit more.

"To my family: I love you more than I express. We all are staid, severe, military sorts, and as such we do not always express our emotions adequately. But I do love you, and I hope that my death does not hurt you all too deeply. Wyn: always stay exactly the way you are today. Though I am sure your current love would not appreciate me saying this, follow your heart and your head equally. And try not to break too many hearts along the way. Mom: you are the rock of our family, the touchstone we all rely on, and the glue that binds us together. All five of your children loved you deeply, as would any more you had. Dad: thank you for making me the man I am today. Without your influence and decisions, I would be less of a man. You showed me that; and though I know you regret dedicating so much time and love to your career, and not enough to your family, don't worry about it. We knew you loved us.

"If I'd ever had another sibling, I would have wished him to be the insanely cheerful one that balanced out the five of us. I would have wanted him to be my comrade, my best friend. I would have wanted to laugh at the romantic scrapes he got into, and help heal the broken hearts; and I would have expected the same in return. Mom and Dad only had five children, of which only Wyn and I still live; but I still think that things were perfect the way they were. Knowing the type of kid I was, I probably would have fought incessantly with any more kids my age.

"One more thing. If you would...please see that Jaina gets a copy of this.

Jagged Fel"

VOICE ENTRY TERMINATED 18:42:39 HOURS. VOICEPRINT CONFIRMED: JAGGED FEL, CDEF

"This entry's recording has ended. Do you wish to play the next entry, 'Tenupe, day Four. Oh, kriff.' ?"


	2. Chapter One

"This entry's recording has ended. Do you wish to play the next entry, 'Tenupe, day Four. Oh, kriff.' ?"

Jagged Fel sighed and opened his eyes, removing the private audio transmitter from his jaw and placing it back on the bedside table. A faint, grim smile flashed briefly across his lips. "A few weeks" indeed. He had spent two years in that hellhole, while the galaxy spun around him. Two years surviving on nothing, avoiding so many dangers that he wasn't even sure where to begin listing them. And then there was that crazy Twi'lek to deal with.

Regardless, he was home now. Or at least, closer to it than he had been. The medical frigate had been on a peacetime exercise with a squadron of CEDF when he was discovered, and their specialized equipment was much better than the stuff on the rescue team's ship.

He had communicated with his family, of course. A call had been made to Soontir Fel before he even got off-planet, telling him the good news. Jag had been suffering from shock at the time, of course, so he hadn't spoken to him; but the ship's commander had replayed the conversation to him several times. It had been a long time since he had seen tears in his father's eyes.

Since waking, he had made several calls. His family, with half the children already gone, had been severely wounded by the presumed loss of a fourth Fel child. His father had remained strong, but something had changed about him, something indefinable. His mother, rendered temporarily helpless by the grief they all felt when the first rescue team failed (_broken bodies, heaped on the jungle floor, frozen in the horror of their death) _had rallied quickly, and provided his family with the touchstone they all needed while still grieving him herself. Wyn, no longer anything like a child, had at first tried to hide from the pain, withdrawing from all but a few close friends and her family. Unable to work for months, she had returned home and stayed with her father and mother. In the past year, as Soontir tried to send out rescue teams, she too had rallied and aided where she could.

Cem had returned when he could, but the need for secrecy and the CEDF's demanding schedule had kept him away. He hadn't even been able to grieve publicly, since it would not have fit with his fabricated story. But his cheerful good humor had helped the family stay together, and for that Jag was grateful.

His parole of the Wookiee Jedi Lowbacca had hurt his family grievously; he didn't know how much, but he could only imagine. The Chiss were not forgiving of failure. _A Wookiee Jedi can cause a lot of damage. Especially in a snubfighter._ _Jaina, why did you start this war?_

Setting the audio journal aside, he turned out the lights in the small room and closed his eyes, seeking the sleep that veteran pilots and military men could find anytime, anywhere.

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_Foliage blurred as he raced past it, green and blue plants whipping by on both sides. Creepers and vines snatched at his ankles, tried to trip him. Death was stalking him, and it made the death on every side look merciful. A Swallower, coming from above and to the right, nearly grabbed him: but he dove, rolled, and came up on his feet, running without looking back. As long as the thing stayed on the ground, he could outrun it. If it took to the trees…no matter. What was behind him made the disgusting thing and the death it offered pale in comparison: after all, Jag wasn't worried about death. He was worried about Death. _

_A clawcraft soared over him, engines screaming. The distinctive clawed design gave it a menacing look, but Jag knew that it meant salvation if he could only reach it or bring it to himself. It was followed by one of those stupid-looking Stealth-X's, somehow modified with a transparent cockpit that magnified the occupant. Jaina's ship spat fire at Jag's clawcraft, and he groaned as its pilot dodged to avoid, heading away from him. The two fighters looped and rolled through the skies, first one, then the other possessing the advantage, unable to score a hit on each other. The two craft dueled in the skies while he ran, running from Death toward death. _

_A shrill whine was the only warning he got. From his right, the clawcraft rocketed toward him, low to the ground in an attempt to confuse sensors. The StealthX was right behind it, lasers chattering. As the clawcraft crossed his trail, ten meters up and five meters behind him, Jaina's lasers penetrated the engine, superheating the delicate metal parts and igniting the fuel lines. The clawcraft exploded above his head, sending fire and metal soaring in all directions. A shock wave from the atmospheric explosion slammed into him, launching him flying through the air with feet and arms flailing. Despair hit him, too, as he realized that he had lost his hope, lost his chance of life. He slammed into a tree, crying out involuntarily as a bead of poisonous sap stuck to his bare chest, sending fire through his body. The sap stuck, then was ripped away as he flailed and tore himself loose. He was familiar with this death; he'd seen it happen, and deduced the progression and effect from the resulting corpse. The tree had left thousands of microbial seeds within his flesh. Within seconds, those seeds would multiply. Within minutes, they would use the compounds and proteins of his body to sprout a new tree, punching up towards the sky even as he fell to the ground. _

_Rebounding from the tree, he felt himself falling, falling, falling. The ground rushed up to meet him, hard and rocky. He hit, but it was not the ground he hit; rather, it was a leaf larger than himself, soft and comfortable. Horror gripped him as he recognized the distinctive spiky edge. The world tilted, and he began to slide towards the mouth. Yelling, he tried to get out, but the leaf wrapped around him, conforming itself to his every twist and turn. Frantic to escape, he whipped his blaster out of the holster he had fashioned for it, firing shot after shop at the leafy yellow maw that reached for him, trying to swallow and digest him. Precious blaster bolts spat from the muzzle of his gun and were absorbed by the plant, until finally it emitted a belch of orange smoke. _

_He tried to hold his breath, but his lungs were burning from the exertion and he couldn't. He breathed in the smoke and immediately began retching, the noxious gas searing his brain with a gray haze intermixed with flashes of pink fire. _

_With a convulsive twist, the plant flipped him out of its embrace. Blind, he thrust out his right arm to break his fall, and felt a bolt of lightning punch through his wrist, the pain traveling up his arm until it exploded in his brain, adding blue bursts of agony to the haze and fire floating through his brain. _

_Through fog- and smoke-blurred eyes, he saw the Tenupian wasber crawling away, its deadly work done and its venom expended. Feeling the liquid lava traveling through his veins, he tried to pull his vibroblade, trying to cut off his arm before the deadly poison traveled too far. Halfway to his vibroblade, his hand was caught and seized by another hand, which expertly trapped his fingers in a _Kim'dswi _pattern, controlling his weak motions with ease. Curled on his side, limbs twitching, body convulsing, dying in three different ways at the same time, he looked up. And saw Death. _

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With a jerk, he woke, lashing out at the figure from his nightmare, trying to snap its neck. He stopped his hand a centimeter from its target, staring up at the pretty young orderly bending over him, eyes filled with concern and fear. She was human. Her skin was not the color of Death; it was a healthy tan. She held his left hand grasped in her own right hand, fingers arranged in a Kim'dswi pattern, trying to stop her delirious patient's thrashing without injuring him.

Soft tan walls surrounded him, and a hard, stone-colored floor laced with purple-and-black veins supported his weight. He was lying on his side, curled into a ball, sheets tangled around him. He could see his bed, designed to offer comfort in any position, rising above him, and could see the broken line of the intravenous drip, with pain-numbing and tranquilizing drugs dripping out of the end. The broken needle was still embedded in the skin of his right arm, oozing blood. A sensor patch trailed over the side of his bed, with the sticky adhesive patch still blinking, sending its warning signal to the nurse's station down the hall.

Humans were rare in these parts, but more common than when he had left. The Empire of the Hand operated under different rules than the CEDF, but that didn't stop them from collaborating and working together. He met the eyes of the pretty orderly, noting the brown color of her eyes and hair. He read the concern on her face, the sadness in her gentle smile, the pity in her brown eyes. His racing heart slowed, and he let his head fall back against the wall with a thump. A long sigh escaped his mouth, and his green eyes closed. He felt the fingers controlling his hand relax, then arrange themselves in a different manner, offering comfort and reassurance rather than tense control.

. A male orderly, his blue skin and red eyes contrasting oddly with his lavender physicians gown, was just entering the room at a dead run, with a medical droid right behind.

The long road of recovery stretched ahead of Jagged Fel. He hoped he would reach the end.

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"So, how are we feeling today?"

Jag repressed a moody comeback about royal doctors in a perpetual good mood. He owed a lot to these people. His body, wiry and strong from two years of survivalist living, had not received the nutrients it needed, and his condition had been worsened by the variety of diseases he had suffered after his medical supplies ran low. He had been mildly surprised to discover that no less than three fatal diseases had been quietly simmering in his organs. Tenupe was a hard planet. Medicine and bacta were taken care of everything his body needed, but he had needed the living presence of the staff to truly realize that he was no longer a castaway.

"I'm feeling well, doctor, considering."

"Yes, well, if you consider all you've been through, I don't care if you're well or not. I'm just amazed you're alive." Glowing red eyes did not express humor well, but Jag could have sworn he saw a twinkle in his eye. "After trying for years to maintain an inverse relationship between my large appetite and my stomach, I think I've finally found the solution. Simply crash-land on a jungle planet and live on your wits for two years. I could write a self-help book, and make trillions. In the GFFA, all of the rich folks would jump at the idea."

"But they would want to take along their serving staff and landspeeders while they were at it."

The doctor sighed. "Yes, well, that's why I would only write one book. After the fad passed, I would be shunned and rejected for the failure of my system. I would be rich by that point, so it wouldn't matter, and I could retire to some jungle planet and live my life out there before dropping dead of malnutrition and disease."

Jag winced. That came a bit close to his experiences in the jungle. He had seen men die before, of course, and was no stranger to the possibility of his own death; but something about the brutality of it all had disturbed him. He had traversed the stars, been part of a group of people who literally saved the galaxy. And wild animals had nearly eaten him. They would have, if that recovery team hadn't shown up earlier. There was irony in there somewhere.

The doctor, catching the slight expression, stopped talking and conducted his examination with professionalism and speed. When they finished, he took Jag for a walk around the medical center. The slash along his ribs was healing nicely; nobody would ever be able to tell that the jagged metal that inflicted the cut had left him lying in the middle of the road with his spleen hanging out. Some of the scars had even disappeared, thanks to the bacta treatment. Plenty remained, both old and new, but most of them weren't visible while he was wearing normal dress anyway.

As Jag made his way back toward his room, the doctor spoke again. "Larin's night report says you ripped your IV and sensors out. She found you on the floor." Larin hadn't included the fact that he had almost tried to kill her, apparently. "What happened?"

Jag focused on making his strides even and steady, feeling ridiculous and unmanly in the absurd hospital gown. "Nightmare."

"Tenupe?"

"What else?"

"Good point." He was silent for a moment. "Would therapy or counseling help?"

"No drugs. I don't want drugs. And no shrunken heads, either. If I need psychobabble, I'll turn on the HoloNet."

"Fair enough. What can we do to help you?"

"Find me my family." He thought for a moment. "And something to do."

The blue-skinned arm provided rock steady support all the way to the lounge, where he sank gratefully into one of the chairs. He was Chiss enough to recognize that he was weakened by that last wound, and in need of rest. But he was Corellian enough that it irritated him – and the Corellian part was rapidly outpacing the Chiss part.

For a half hour or so he relaxed there, enjoying the fact that he was still alive, and back in civilization. No longer did he have to spend every minute wondering where the next threat to his life was; no longer did he have to keep a wary eye on every aspect of his surroundings.

He smiled. _That is, until I meet a Solo or Jedi again._

Larin, the brown-eyed night shift nurse, was back on duty when he limped his way over to the nurses station. She flashed him a bright smile, and said, "How is your arm?"

Jag looked down at the bacta patches covering the needle puncture. "Next time, I'll have someone who knows what they're doing extract it."

"There's a reason medical school is so expensive."

"No kidding?"

"They do more there than teach us bad handwriting, believe it or not. After six years of training, I graduated. I got a job with a groundside medical facility, filled with old and grumpy staff members, and young interns who kept trying to attract my attention. About the only thing they thought I could do was put on bacta patches and make squealy noises."

He laughed. "Sounds like the first time I flew combat missions with an older squadron."

Studying him, she said, "Now see, that is interesting. Only half of them said you were a pilot; the others guessed commando."

Wondering if this was really a mental hospital and he was worse off than he had thought, he said, "I beg your pardon?"

She laughed, a musical sound that reminded him of his mother's best holodramas. "Do you have any idea of the rumors that are going around about you?"

Startled, he said, "What rumors?"

"The ones that have been flying through the medical staff and patients since the day you arrived here, as blue as a Chiss, half your side ripped open, scars all over your body, and looking like you'd lived for a decade undercover in a war zone."

"Ummm…I'm afraid I haven't heard them."

"Let's see." She ticked them off one by one on her fingers, counting. "You're the prince of a small star system, where all the women are beautiful and all the men spend their time hunting wild creatures and training for war."

"Sounds like Hapes."

A second finger went up. "Speaking of Hapes, there's also a rumor that the Queen Mother there kept you as her personal…_slave_…against your will. You escaped her evil clutches, and trekked through the forests of her home planet, fighting rancors and Nightsisters the whole way, until you reached an abandoned airfield and cobbled together a vehicle."

"I don't think Tenel Ka ever showed _that_ much interest in me. And wasn't Dathomir Vongformed?" He realized his mistake and cursed inwardly.

Her eyes widened slightly. "You know the Hapan Queen?" It was not a question; it was a statement of disbelief and awe. And it meant trouble for him.

Mentally scolding himself, he said, "Friend of a friend. She was always interested in Jacen anyways, even if he didn't realize it." Jaina had told him that much…and he belatedly realized that he'd once more said too much. What had being stranded done to his brain?

"Jacen. Right. Of course." She gave him a flat, disbelieving look. "Have you ever been on the HoloNet?"

"Er….no."

She raised a third finger. "So much for the girl who thought you were that star on the show about the folks who lived through the particle storm. Though I swear, you look just like him."

Once again, he found himself not understanding a word she said. "Girl? What girl?"

"_Which_ girl is more like it. Even the Chiss females are talking about you now." She gave a mischievous smile. "It got so bad that while you were unconscious, they had full-fledged battles over who got to bathe you."

"_WHAT_?" His ears flamed red, and he stared at her, appalled.

"Oh yes. Blasters and all. It was quite a day or two. You won't need to bathe for another month or two, given the amount of scrubbings you got."

He clawed for an excuse to change the subject, but came up empty. Enjoying his embarrassment, she said, "There's also the rumor that you fell in love with a Jedi, and that she stranded you on the planet to test you, see if you were worthy of…"

Her words faded from his hearing. Love. Jedi. Stranded. Test. Worthy. Jaina. His face turned to stone without realizing it, and Larin stopped midsentence. "Jag?"

It was nothing like that, of course. But still, he had loved a Jedi…and even though it wasn't her fault, he had ended up stranded on the planet. The damage she inflicted on his craft had made sure of that. "Jag?"

He'd had no chance of evading Leia Organa Solo. It would have been difficult enough in an undamaged craft, but if he'd lived through the fire of the woman he loved and that cretin Zekk, he could have done it. War was a terrible thing. "Jag?"

With a start, he came back to the present. "Sorry. Drifted off for a second there, thinking about something else." He thanked the Force for the distraction when her console beeped, and turned to go back to his room. He made it no more than a few strides when he heard his name. "Jag, wait."

He paused in the hallway until Larin caught up. "I'm sorry if I said something to offend you. Really, I was just joking around, and didn't mean to -"

"Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure? I feel terrible, and I wouldn't want you -"

"I'm sure."

"All right." She bit her lip, considering.

"Anything stopping me from going back and getting some sleep?"

"Yeah. That message that just came in was about you."

"All prisoners to be terminated immediately?"

"Shut up, you." She grinned and punched him on the shoulder. He winced when her light tap hit a half-healed scar, but she didn't notice. "Someone's coming to see you. Two someone's, in fact. Left at the same time, but from different places. A fellow named Cem is due here tomorrow morning, and someone named Wynssa that afternoon."

He smiled, his first genuine smile in…how long? "Cem and Wyn both? Wonderful! Larin, you have no idea how much that excites me!"

She studied him. "Is Wyn the one?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Is Wyn your girlfriend?"

Warily, he asked, "Why?"

Sensing his apprehension, she laughed again and hit him on the shoulder – in exactly the same place. "Just curious. When you were unconscious, before the blasters came out…" she paused to enjoy his blush. "Before the blasters came out, I was the one assigned to take care of you. And afterwards, I got to see you in the grip of nightmares, being tormented by whatever you've lived through that put you in here. When your face just lit up, I hoped that this Wynssa would be the woman who can pull you through."

"Oh." Cem had always understood girls. So why was Jag the one who found himself in these situations? He would never figure out women. "She's my sister."

"Oh. And what about the girl? Is there one?"

His grin faded. Soberly, he said, "I don't know. There was one, but I don't know if she wants the job."

"Why?"

"It's a long story. I haven't spoken to her much in….years." He wasn't even counting their few conversations during the Dark Nest Crisis. His last true conversation with her had been long before that, when she had told him that it wasn't working out.

"Would she listen to you if you did talk to her?"

That was almost funny. The last time he saw her, she had tried to kill him –and had come very, very close to succeeding. "Maybe."

She didn't say anything, but Jag had the feeling that the conversation wasn't over yet. He was right, but not in the way he anticipated.

"How did you get that scar that looks like a large hook with a slash across it?"

He frowned, trying to figure out which of his many scars she was talking about. He had so many scars on his body that it was sometimes hard to remember where he had gotten them, how he had gotten them, or even where they were on his body…flames danced across his cheeks. His ears felt like he had just stuck them in a Star Destroyer's reactor core, and he was sure all his hair was standing up on end. He had just remembered where that particular scar was located.

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Jag woke, gasping. Tenupe had been blurry and faded, the feelings of panic dulled; but it had nonetheless returned to his dreams once more, along with its thousands of dangers. Worse than the myriad native threats, though, had been the alien ones. Not all of Tenupe's terrors were native to the planet; Death had been pursuing him, cold and terrible, and he had been unable to defend himself. His only recourse was to run, for he was not stalking Death; Death was stalking him. Death had clasped his arm.

Jag hated to lose control of his mind. It was his final bastion, his refuge. Wild fear like he experienced nightly in his dreams unnerved him, because it testified to the hurt he had suffered on Tenupe. Struggling against disorientation, fighting the flood of adrenaline coursing through his body, he looked up, expecting an orderly or nurse.

The figure seated on the edge of his bed was anything but. He was built like a commando, with short blond hair and a tanned face. He wore the uniform of the Chiss military, but somehow managed to make it look casual and comfortable, even though his back was perfectly straight and he appeared poised on the edge of action. His right hand clasped Jag's right forearm, and his left held a partially-assembled blaster with a noise suppressor. Jag had never been happier to see anyone in his life.

"Cem!" Jag's throat closed, and the words stopped. Cem dropped the blaster he was cleaning and clasped Jag's other forearm tightly, the way they had greeted each other as teenagers.

"I know, Jag. I'm here." Cem frowned as he looked Jag over. "You look bloody awful."

"What are you doing here? Larin said you weren't coming in until tomorrow morning!"

Cem chuckled softly. "It's more than halfway through the day, Jag. Larin waited until you were asleep, then pumped your intravenous drip full of sleeping meds." He held up his arm before Jag could protest, and said, "They're no worse than the stuff you used to keep yourself awake while you were piloting. She assured me that they were safe, and even said that she'd used weaker ones than she wanted."

"I hate the idea of relying on some pill or shot or something to keep me happy."

"Yeah, I know. But trust me, this stuff won't hurt ya." Light sparked in his green eyes, and he broke out into the grin that marked him as Corellian. Not for the first time, Jag thought of Han Solo. "Larin is pretty cute. Is she taken already, or do I have a chance?"

Jag laughed, trying to sit up. "Why don't you ask her that yourself?"

Cem frowned at him severely. "There is no rushing charm. It doesn't work that way."

"Like you'd know."

Cem punched him on the shoulder, managing to hit the same spot Larin had. Not noticing Jag's wince, he said, "C'mon. Get outta bed and get dressed. Wyn is only a few hours out, and you know that she's going to monopolize you once she gets in. We won't have a single minute to talk. Don't play the wounded invalid; you're not that bad. I've seen you lots worse than this, lotsa times. Remember the time you 'borrowed' Dad's snowspeeder?"

"Didn't you hear that they've got a mechanical kidney, spleen, liver and stomach in there keeping me alive while new ones are growing?"

Cem dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Trifles. You've been gone for two years, and it's been longer than that since we talked. So get up, 'cause it's not comfortable in here."

Jag rose unsteadily, supported by Cem's strong arm. He noticed some new scars; Cem, apparently, was still the same reckless fun-seeker he'd always been. "Where are we going to go?"

"How should I know? There's gotta be some place with a comfy chair. Hospitals don't think to put them in the patient's room."

"Two comfy chairs. And I get the recliner."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

For hours they talked, reminiscing about old times, recounting adventures and escapades, and catching Jag up on the news of his family, adopted people, and home galaxy. Syal and Soontir were living more simply, and Soontir had a lot more time to spend with his family. An investigative team had, using hundreds of videos and gathered Intelligence reports, determined which of the Jedi StealthX's had been flown by the Wookiee Jedi Lowbacca during the attack on Supply Depot Thrago. They had tracked the damage that craft had caused, tallied up the numbers, and presented Soontir Fel with the bill.

The figures made Jag sick. Because of his error in judgment, his entire family had suffered. Soontir and Syal Fel had spent a lifetime among the Chiss, battled their way into the trust and respect of the demanding society, and worked to save their fortune.

Now, because of him, much of that fortune was gone, and his family was in disgrace. Jag hoped that his reappearance would take some of the pressure off his family…but he had lived among the Chiss for too long. Their memory was long, and their clemency almost nonexistent.

Cem sensed Jag's depression and moved off that topic as quickly as he could. Much had happened to their family in the past few years, not the least of which was that Wyn was in love. Again. To Jag's relief, the object of her affections was a human member of the Empire of the Hand, whom she had met while visiting the library there. Her occasional infatuations with Chiss males had been painful, as Jag could personally attest. He had nearly broken his ribs laughing.

Before Jag realized it, hours had passed and their conversation was interrupted by Wyn. She had the same good looks and blond hair as her mother, and looking at her, Jag couldn't even remember the slightly awkward teenager she had once been. Squealing with delight, she dropped her bags and rushed to him. Not slowing, she leapt onto the couch next to him –well, not entirely next to him; she had landed quite solidly on that bruise that everyone kept hitting, and several others as well – and threw her arms around him. Jag barely noticed the pain as he hugged her as tightly as he could, marveling at the fact that he was alive to greet his family like this. For the first time in years, the surviving children of the Fel family were together, and Jag was at peace.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Days passed, and the three of them gathered at every opportunity. Either Cem or Wynssa was at Jag's side, even during the twenty-five minute surgery where his newly re-grown vital organs were inserted into his body. Jag felt nothing, of course, and was mildly amused at the whole procedure. It was probably a good thing that he couldn't see anything; he spent the entire time looking through a visor at a virtual reality game, piloting a clawcraft over wide stretches of Csilla's beautiful surface. No enemies appeared to bother him, and he reveled in the long-lost feel of the responsive clawcraft. Several intriguing features caught his attention, upgrades that hadn't even been in development when he crashed, but he left them alone. He had no idea how 'real' a crash was in this VR, and he had no desire to find out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jag went planetside for the first time three days after the surgery. The medical frigate was orbiting an ocean world, deep inside Consortium territory, and Jag reveled in the _blueness_ of it all, in the open freedom of the world. Only two other worlds that Jag could think of would have been more different than green, steamy, overgrown Tenupe; and Jag had no desire to see prewar Coruscant. Csilla might be nice, but it was cold; this planet was warm without being sweltering, wet without being humid, and pleasant without being green or mountainous. Jag and Wynssa spent an idyllic afternoon on the beach watching Cem and Larin flirt outrageously: when she had met them at the airlock, it was evident that she took the words on Cem's shirt to be a request, which she granted with enthusiasm. Jag couldn't even begin to imagine where in the Chiss Ascendancy Cem had acquired a shirt that said, "Kiss me, I'm Corellian.'

------------------------------------------------------------------------

They made fun of Jag that night at dinner, tormenting him with their ability to eat whatever they wished. He tried to eat his prescribed meal with the appearance of enjoyment, but they didn't buy it. One of the downfalls of having a recently inserted digestive system was that for a period of time, one could only eat certain types of food. 'Good tasting' was apparently one of the forbidden attributes.

The days passed slowly, with every moment an enjoyment. Jag slept without a single nightmare on the fourth day after his surgery, and woke feeling better than he had in a long time. The doctors had managed to restore his stamina and energy by that time, so he joined the other three in swimming and turbosurfing. Larin introduced them to a horrifyingly primitive one-man vehicle called a 'glider' and made them all try it. Though Jag could corkscrew through the sky without fear while in a snubfighter, the thought of flying unassisted by repulsors, thrusters, or mechanical aid of any kind made a thrill of delicious apprehension run through him. He thoroughly enjoyed his flight, uneventful and straight as it was, and they all took turns flying the things. Predictably, Cem and Larin were the first to try a tandem fly, and almost broke their necks. _Serves Cem right for not watching where he was going. Though I understand why he was distracted…_.

All was well, until the day a call came through for Jagged Fel, Commander, CEDF, summoning him to appear before a court investigating the attack on Supply Depot Thrago as soon as possible. Jag wanted to face the panel of inquisitors immediately, but Larin refused to release him from the hospital, urged on by Cem and Wyn. He saw the wisdom of that, with time, but during the five weeks of recovery, while they made hurried preparations and tried to come up with a defense, the shadow of that summons hung over their heads like a dark angry cloud.


	3. Chapter Two

_ From the private journals of Commander Jagged Fel, CEDF. Voiceprint analysis confirms identity: audiojournal playback commencing._

Third Entry:

"Tenupian Diary, Day Four. Oh, kriff!"

_ sound of running feet and a large body crashing through vegetation. Faint animal noises can be heard from farther away, and the sound of a second large body crashing through vegetation. Being #1 is tentatively identified as a bipedal being, between 1.5 and 2 meters in height, most likely human. Being #2 is unknown, though tentatively identified as quadripedal, several hundred kilograms in weight, and over three meters long. Analysis of audible resonance suggests mammalian non-sapient predator_

_ Voiceprint identified as Commander Fel:_ "Kriffing…stang! What the garzal was that? Kriff!" _scraping vegetation blurs audio recording of next phrase; partial reconstruction indicates words of Corellian origin, intermixed with Rodian and Huttese_

_ stress analyzers indicate high levels of panic and fear_ "Help! Someone, anyone, help! This kriffing thing is going to karkin' eat me! voice level increases SOMEBODY HELP ME! I AM ABOUT TO GET EATEN! I TRIPPED, AND IT'S GOING TO GET ME! HEEEEEEEEELLLPPPP!!!!!!"

_ whispered _"Authorization zero two five niner alpha gamma zebulon. Upon trigger word 'stang' commence immediate playback of entry previous to authorization. Repeat playback until otherwise commanded, maximum volume."

_ Authorization code accepted. Looping requested record for continuous high-volume playback_

"Bloody kar'laka! This thing's going to get me! I can't run much longer! Stang!"

_ commencing high-volume playback of requested entry. Continued thrashing of vegetation and sound of running footfalls. Untranslatable expression of exertion, followed by windgust acceleration past speaker and fading of footfalls, while increased vegetation disturbance noises. Hard thump identified as durasteel and viewscreen materials colliding with a soft, woody object approximately one meter in diameter. Data recording device sustains slight damage consistent with accelerated collision with hard object; functionality undisturbed. Softer thump identified as durasteel and viewscreen materials landing on soil/vegetation_

_ Heavy breathing, consistent with nonsapient mammalian hunter. Padded footfalls and vegetation disturbance noises increasing in volume and proximity to recording device. Data recording device sustains damage consistent with bite pattern of predatorial mammal (functionality undisturbed), and records an increased volume of the heavy breathing. Audio indicators suggest enclosed space_

_ Report of blaster bolt. Dada recording device sustains damage consistent with blaster crease; functionality undisturbed. Noise of imploding object, and cessation of heavy breathing consistent with nonsapient mammalian hunter_

_ Footfalls, bipedal human. Heavy breathing consistent with human exertion, drawing closer. Voiceprint analysis confirms identity: Jagged Fel, Commander, CEDF_

"Cease playback."

_ Human footfalls—circling audio recording device_

"What the garzal is that thing? Yeckh."

_ moments of silence, interrupted by audible signals consistent with vertical movement of audio data recording device and removal from partially enclosed area_

"What the bloody…Han Solo doesn't have all the Corellian luck monopolized!"

_ laughter _"I wasn't anticipating this usage when I stuck you in my flight jacket the other day! Thanks, Mom. I'm glad you made me promise to use it."

_ VOICE ENTRY TERMINATED 09:27:58 HOURS. VOICEPRINT CONFIRMED: JAGGED FEL, CDEF_

This entry's recording has ended. Do you wish to play the next entry, 'Tenupe, day Six. Status report'?

_Entry selected._ Please wait while entry 'Tenupe, day Seven, Status report' is loaded.

_Entry loaded. _From the private journals of Commander Jagged Fel, CEDF. _Voiceprint analysis confirms identity: audiojournal playback commencing.  
_

"One week has passed since my crash, and my situation has improved somewhat. My food supply has increased, thanks to something that tried to eat me a few days back. Not only did I acquire a supply of fresh meat from its corpse, I found a river…and my crashed clawcraft. I've jury-rigged the repulsors attached to my seat so I could float it behind me instead of carrying it, and brought the whole thing to the crash site. Pity I can't work up some sort of flying machine; my feet are starting to develop blisters.

"If the Force has a will, it plays some funny jokes sometimes. Running for my life, trying to throw that creature off my track long enough to draw my blaster and steady my arm, I threw this journal as far as I could off to my left. I'd been dodging and turning and running, and I only threw it that direction by chance; yet when it served its purpose and drew that creature off, I found that it had landed within five meters of a wreckage trail in the jungle. Following the trail led me to the clawcraft, not twenty meters from a river. Taking a much-needed drink, I happened to glance sideways and see a cave mouth, hidden from easy view in the side of the bank. It has all the requirements of a good campsite; proximity to resources (my clawcraft and the river), an easily defensible perimeter (I can set warning traps all around this clearing, and barricade/defend the mouth of that cave against all comers), and a hidden location. Some sort of tri-winged brood of bird-things were living there, but I convinced them to leave. It's amazing what smoke can do to sensory systems, and I was able to bludgeon them to death without wasting shots from my blaster. I have a feeling I'll want to conserve ammunition.

"Like everything else on Tenupe I've seen, they are designed to kill. Nothing here is content to graze on grass and fruit; every animal I have seen thus far is a predator. It's difficult to conceive of an ecosystem violent enough to produce this effect, but that is what it looks like. The Killiks picked a good planet to colonize…it suits them.

"Speaking of the Killiks, I'm not hearing any more laser blasts in the distance. Either the Chiss were successful in deploying the pesticide, or they destroyed them; otherwise, the bugs will soon colonize the rest of this planet and I will be discovered. I have not yet decided whether to take my own life in that event; but I think I shall. The information and skills in my possession cannot fall into their, um…mandibles. Vying with that route is my own heart, sick of being at war with Jaina. I must have watched too many of Mom's old holodramas; the unreturned love of the hero always frustrated me, yet here I am in a similar situation. It's not exactly the same, of course….I'm not even sure I love Jaina, and I know that after all that has happened, I shouldn't. But some irrational part of me wants to Join with her nest, and forget about my troubles. I cannot clamp down on that voice, so I must find a way to defeat it; I just don't know how, yet. But I will not be forced into irrational decisions by anything; my mind will remain my own. The thought of living with Jaina, Joined in purpose and mind and body, is appealing, but…

"I know my duty. Should I be captured or discovered, I will either defeat and destroy the bugs who contact me, or take my own life."

"I did manage to slice into my wireless comm that was attached to my helmet. If I can figure out a way to boost the signal, I might be able to transmit and receive signals, which is my best chance of making it out of here. The terrain looks extremely hostile to even the fearless rescue teams the Ascendancy employs while searching out their downed pilots; and unless the war is won here, there will be no such search. But if a passing ship picked up my signal…

"I'm not really upset that my fate can be viewed so coldly, so logically. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, and the thought of many dying to try to rescue one is almost as repugnant to me as it would be to my superiors. I say 'really' and 'almost,' though, because I am the one and not the many. I do want to live. I don't know why, since my life isn't terribly enjoyable, but I do. If nothing else, my family provides ample reason to live…but I seem to have forgotten that when I had access to hypercomm and messaging. I'm sorry.

"With luck, the Jedi or the Chiss succeeded and the battle is won. In that case, my transmissions will have a better chance to reach someone, and my crash site could be spotted by friendly forces. By staying close to it, I am available in case that happens. I run the risk of an unfriendly agent making the same discovery, but I will take my chances. As history has proved, I can be a deadly foe, and I know how to defend myself. I always have the final shot available, if things go poorly.

"Again, I'll try to update this diary regularly. Perhaps I won't be able to do it daily, or even every other day. But at least once a week, I should be able to make an entry. I have no worries about this ceasing to function; it's already survived being shot down, ejecting, crash-landing, being drowned in a river, and eaten by something with a lot of claws and even more teeth. Solar power will take care of the rest, though the batteries usually last several months. I shouldn't need that long."

"Jagged Fel, Commander, CEDF. May the Force be with me, if it does such things. Personally, I have little use for it, and even less if the 'Dark Side' is the same as the Light. That holds no appeal for me, though all the Jedi got excited about it. I don't understand why they would want such a thing. They exist to serve the Light; why would they want to be allowed to serve the Darkness too? This makes no sense at all, unless they convince themselves that there is no Dark Side. Luke Skywalker of all people should know better, and Jaina has been there – but they can be deceived, as I know all too well. Many people said that they wished they had died before the Yuuzhan Vong came and brought misery and grief upon the galaxy. I personally believe that all who live to see such days wish that…but I can't shake the feeling that, if the Jedi follow the path I fear, those who survived to the 'victorious end' of the Vong War will wish that they had not.

"I meant to end this recording. I have many more traps to design, construct, and set. Thankfully, my education was not solely involved with the technology and machines that the elite soldiers of our military can expect. I did my share of 'soft tech' adventuring as a boy, and I have survived several aptly named survival courses. Nothing could have prepared me for this horrid place, but I have a chance. There is always hope.

"If this is the last entry, I wish as always to express my feelings for those I love. I've done that with every entry thus far; but you cannot understand. I feel…it's like I am a man who has been doomed to execution, but I don't know the date. So I write to my family every day; but I can't know which letter will be the last they receive. This bloody jungle could kill me in the next five minutes. I used my long-vision viewers to watch an enormous beast die yesterday. I was trying to see what it would do next, and determine if I could kill it, when I spotted some sort of wasp or wasber crawling up its leg. I enlarged the view, and saw that little insect, no bigger than my thumb, sting the larger creature. And I watched the larger beast, easily the size of my clawcraft, die in agony. Tenupe holds more dangers every time I open my eyes. Any one of them could kill me, even while I record this.

"I am suddenly feeling highly motivated to stop recording."

VOICE ENTRY TERMINATED 20:02:50 HOURS. VOICEPRINT CONFIRMED: JAGGED FEL, CDEF

This entry's recording has ended. Do you wish to play the next entry, 'Tenupe, day Eight. Stayin' alive…so far.'?


End file.
